


Crossing Over

by infiniterider



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies), Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011), The Bourne Legacy (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 06:26:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4614645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniterider/pseuds/infiniterider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A government agent challenges her orders, and seeks the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crossing Over

Stone. Regina Stone. She liked the name a little better than her civilian name. She’d always hated being named after her mother. There wasn’t even a twinge of pain at the thought of her mother. The woman had died, ill, in pain and struggling. That used to bother her - bring tears to her eyes. But a while after she left the Airforce and joined LARX, the memory became no more painful than the memory of getting a splinter. It had concerned her at first. She mentioned it to the adjustment counselor, but she was told that it was normal - typical reactions to the kind of missions she had to do, as well as the cognitive and physical meds. Her mind would adjust to the change in activities and chemicals, and she would feel normal again soon.

Over time, the concern about her emotions faded away. Memories of her old life were useless, and hindered efficiency. It didn’t bother her that she wasn’t sad when she thought of her mother’s death, or of all the family who thought she was dead. Time healed, she supposed. Eventually, she forgot that she’d ever cried at all.

* * *

Stone glanced at her watch. Thirty seconds. She was tempted to call, but she refused. Checkins were a pain in the ass, so she refused to check in even a second earlier than was required. When the time was right, she called in and waited the last three seconds for the phone to connect.

“Michaelson’s Blinds,” a cheerful man answered.

“Delta seven seven check-in,” Stone replied.

“One moment.”

She waited. Twelve seconds. What the hell was taking so long? She resisted the urge to sigh, and continued to wait. Sixteen seconds later, the operator was back. “Delta seven seven, report to twenty-one.”

“What? Why?” The questions flew from her lips before she could stop them. If LARX has taught her anything, it was that there was truth to the words “ours is not to reason why”.

“I don’t know, Delta,” the voice replied, cheerful tone completely gone. “Those are the orders. Your current assignment is cancelled, and you’re to report to twenty-one, ASAP.”

“Acknowledged,” she replied calmly. The line disconnected.

She shoved her phone back into her pocket with more force than was necessary. She almost never felt sadness, fear or guilt, but anger came easily to her. She was in the middle of a mission, and she was supposed to terminate two more threats by the end of the week. Now, right in the middle, she was suddenly being called in, probably to do some damn lab tests. She might have asked who was going to take care of Bolivia, but she knew she wouldn’t have gotten an answer.

Stone did as she was told - she dropped everything. She left her high-powered rifle in the house, knowing her replacement would need it. Within an hour, she was on a plane to the capital.

The flight was uneventful. She was vaguely uncomfortable in any situation where she couldn’t readily escape, but the plane was full of harmless civilians, sleeping, reading or chattering about their petty concerns. Stone never slept in any location that could not be fully and completely secured, so she spent the next several hours alternating between relaxation and performing subtle isometric exercises. 

When she finally arrived back in town, she took a cab to the generic-looking office building that housed her usual contact point. Her contact was in a conference room, flanked by two other men. One, she recognized as the man who had first recruited her to LARX. The other, she didn’t recognize. 

“Have a seat, Stone,” her contact said. She did so, and waited impatiently for someone to get to the point. “We have a special assignment for you.” The man paused, as if he expected her to say something, but what was there to say? Her handler passed a file to her, with a glance at the other two men.

Stone picked it up and opened it to see two pictures - a dark-haired woman and a man with sandy hair, both apparently in their thirties. Names under the picutres were Marta Shearing and Aaron Cross. A small page of notes was attached to the file, merely stating that Cross was a former CIA agent, and the two had last been seen in the Phillippines. She looked up at the three men with a frown on her face. 

“Is there a problem, Agent Stone?” her handler asked.

“I don’t know, sir, maybe you can tell me.”

“Excuse me?”

She held up the file. “What’s not written in here? What are you not telling me about these people?”

Her handler frowned. “It’s not like you to question your orders, Stone,” he said sternly.

“It’s not like you to give me an assignment flanked by high ranking officials,” she snapped back. “So what am I missing? Are you sending me out to terminate a threat, or are you trying to terminate _me_?”

Her handler looked at the other men. He didn’t look blatantly nervous, but his lip twitched once, which was a clear sign to Stone that something was foul about this. “You’re right, Stone,” Byer (her former recruiter) said calmly. “This isn’t one of your usual targets.” He looked at the others, then back to her. “How much do you know about a program called Outcome?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Is it like LARX?”

“Similar,” he said. “But it had some flaws, and we initiated LARX to replace it, with better agents, and better program medicaitons. Cross is a former Outcome agent. He went rogue and killed the other Outcome agents, then ran. We need him put down.”

Stone nodded and looked down at the file again. “What else don’t I know?” she asked. 

“What do you mean?” the other man - the stranger - asked. “Mr. Byer has told you all you need to know.”

Stone looked blankly at the man, unsure of who he was or how powerful he was. “That’s a lie, sir,” she said cooly. The man looked shocked and her handler spluttered. “If Cross is from an inferior program, there’s no reason to pull me in here with the three of you. He’d be a walk in the park, right? But he’s not. So tell me the rest.”

They looked nonplussed, but Byer finally spoke again. “Well, gentlemen, we didn’t choose them because they were stupid. Alright, Stone. Cross killed a LARX agent two days ago.” Stone looked sharply at him, eyes narrowed. The man nodded slowly. “It won’t be a walk in the park by any stretch of the imagination. But we have confidence in you. You’re the best LARX has to offer. Find him. Terminate him and the woman. Then get back.”

She nodded. "Yes, sir. What about chems? If this guy is what you say he is, this is going to take more than a week. It could take a _very_ long time. Am I supposed to stop and check in once a week?”

They looked at each other again. Finally, the stranger, the broad, heavy-set man with the thin lips, spoke up. “We’re going to take steps to remove your dependence on weekly doses,” he told her.

Stone’s eyes widened. “You… you can _do_ that?”

“It’s a risky procedure,” her handler answered. “Which is why it hasn’t been done before. But this is a special case, and we’re willing to take the risk.”

Stone gritted her teeth. She noticed that no one asked whether _she_ was willing to take the risk. But if it meant keeping her increased strength, sharper vision and other enhancements forever, she was definitely willing to take the chance. “When do I start?”

* * *

For three days after the shots, Stone was certain she was going to die. They _had_ decided to terminate her, and instead of sending an assassin, they had worked out this elaborate scheme to get her to walk right into the hands of death. 

On the fourth day, it passed. She awoke feeling dehydrated, but otherwise strong and healthy. Her handler was with her to personally welcome her back to life and remind her of her mission. “Your physical enhancements are permanent now, Stone,” he told her. 

“What about cognitive?” she asked sharply.

“Those are a little trickier. You’ll still need a booster every two months.”

“What?! You _told_ me I would be independent! I wouldn’t need-”

“It is what it is, Stone,” he said firmly. “I’m not a scientist, I don’t know the mechanics. But that’s what I was told, cognitive needs to be done every two months. Now if you can’t find this guy by then, we’ve picked the wrong agent.” Stone scowled, jaw clenching. “Save up all that anger for your mission, Stone. Contact the usual way when you’re done.”

And with that he was gone. Stone kept her head, didn’t even kick around the furniture. She focused on getting the job done. Her viral-out procedure had taken place in a hotel in Manila. She checked out and went on the hunt.

* * *

Cross was extremely difficult to find. It took six weeks to locate him, which was unprescedented. When she finally found the small island where he’d taken residence, it took another full week to get there undiscovered. She found that a fishing boat took an extra-long route, and took supplies to a deserted island once a week. She stowed away on the boat and slipped out while the boat was docked. 

Supplies were left just inside the line of trees, and the boat left without ever meeting the fugitive. But hours later, after dark, a man came and removed the supplies. Stone didn’t follow him. She lay completely still in her depression beneath the bushes and waited for all sounds to fade. Two hours after the man left, she followed the trail and found the small thatch hut, the makeshift clothes-line with t-shirts and pants drying, and other signs of life.

Stone was careful. She watched and she waited for her chance to strike. She was _not_ about to go down like the other LARX agent. She’d demanded more details and found that he had died in a motorcycle chase. Stone would take the man by surprise. Or she hoped she would. 

She waited and watched for three days. During those days, she was occasionally close enough to hear the conversations of the two fugitives. The conversations disturbed her. Shearing was a scientist, one who had worked on Outcome agents. Cross was an agent, just as she had been told. He comforted the woman and tried to help her accept the “death” of the family she had left behind. She checked on him, and seemed to be pleased that his cognitive viral-out was definitely sticking. 

They were in love with one another, but it was new - something only a month old, growing now as they got to know each other more after the intensity of their flight from the government. They talked about what they might do in the future when things calmed down - if they could ever go back to life in society again. If they even wanted to.

Never, not even once, did Cross refer to murdering any other agents - only to their flight from capture and death. 

Stone shoved aside her own concerns. Her questions. What was she not being told? It didn’t matter. She had a job to do, and she had less than a week to do it before she would need her own chems re-upped. She had watched long enough. She had a plan.

She crept into the hut late on the third night. She had seen Cross check his own traps, and she avoided them with skill and made it inside unhindered. She should have shot them both in their sleep. That was what her handler would have told her. She had the gun out and ready to do just that. But she couldn’t. After watching them for days - listening to their fledgeling romance, listening to their stories about getting away, _not_ hearing anything about misconduct - she had too many questions to let it end here.

She pulled out her backup. Swiftly, before either of them could shift, or awaken suddenly and catch her standing there, she stabbed Cross in the leg with the syringe and pressed the plunger. He cried out in shock, and Shearing screamed. The tranquilizer took about thirty seconds to work, and they were a dangerous thirty seconds. Stone jumped back from the pair to give herself space, and kept her eyes open. Cross reached underneath his pillow, and in a split second, Stone grabbed the scientist and held the gun to her head.

“Don’t touch it,” Stone snapped.

Shearing screamed and struggled, but she was no match for the seasoned agent. Meanwhile, Cross raised his arms to show he wasn’t going for the gun. His eyelids drooped, and Shearing let out a shocked cry. “Aaron? Aaron!”

“It’s… okay,” he told her, but his speech was slurred, and he could hardly keep his head up. He reached clumsily for the syringe that still stuck out of his leg. “Ssshit,” he said drowsily. He struggled to get up, rolling over so he could get on his knees. Stone pulled the frantic woman back, keeping the gun to her head, but she needn’t have worried. Cross got one hand under him, but crashed heavily to the floor the next second. 

“No, no! Aaron!” the woman screamed. “Oh God, no! You _killed_ him!” She tried to fight against Stone, crying and screaming in her rage and grief.

“Relax!” Stone snapped. “He’s not dead.” The woman gaped at her in shock, and stopped fighting. Stone shoved the woman into one of the two (partially rusted) metal chairs in the room. She found some spare rope in one corner of the hut, and tied the woman securely to the chair.

“H-he… he’s not dead?” she asked, sounding dazed.

“No.” Stone tested the security of the ropes, then went to the drugged agent. Warily, she checked him to make sure he wasn’t faking, and had truly been downed by the drug. He was completely unconscious. She lifted him up, his muscular frame a bit difficult to manage even with her enhancements. She set him in the other chair, and tied him securely, double-binding his wrists, ankles and chest, to be absolutely sure he couldn’t escape. Then she pushed his head forward over his chest (it had been lolling back) to make sure he didn’t choke.

When everyone was secure, Stone took the gun fron under their pillow and tucked it into her belt. Then she pulled over a large crate they had been using for storage, and sat on it while she waited. Shearing turned to her, eyes red and shining in the dim moonlight that filtered through the cabin windows. “What do you want?” she asked. “Why are you doing this?”

Stone looked at her impassively. “He’ll be out for about four hours,” she said. “You might as well get some sleep.”

Tears filled the woman’s eyes. Stone looked at the sleeping agent, and waited, blocking out the soft sobbing of the scientist.

* * *

Just after dawn, he began to shift. Stone stood up, and Shearing lifted her head (she’d finally fallen asleep after about an hour of complete silence from Stone). Stone watched Cross slowly regain awareness. She tensed when he realized he was bound, and struggled to free himself. She was relieved, though, when the ropes held and in a few moments, he stared up at her, breathing hard with animal fury in his eyes.

Stone pressed her gun to the temple of the scientist, and Cross’ rage immediately turned to fear. “No! _No!_ ” He struggled fiercely against the ropes, but couldn’t escape them. “ _Shit!_ ” 

“Who are you?” Stone asked.

He stared at her. “You already know that,” he said. He looked at the woman. “It’s gonna be okay,” he told her. “It’s gonna be-”

Stone shoved the woman’s head with the gun, forcing her to tilt. She cried out, and Cross shouted at her to stop. “Why do they want you dead?” Stone snapped.

He looked up at her, and she could _see_ him thinking, trying to understand her. “They terminated my program,” he said, speaking calmly this time. “It was called Outcome. They terminated all of the agents and scientists involved, except the two of us.”

Stone scowled. “ _You_ terminated those agents,” she said. 

He looked shocked, and shook his head. “No. Is… is _that_ what they told you? No, _they_ killed those agents! They wanted to wipe us out, they-”

“No!” Stone scowled, balking against his words, and the lack of evidence she’d received from her own leaders. She gripped the woman’s hair, and pressed the gun hard against her head. “Tell me the _truth_ , right now!”

“I _am_ , I-” Stone glared at him, then looked down at the terrified woman, adjusting her grip on the gun. “No no _no_ ,” he said quickly. “Please! _Fuck!_ _Listen_ to me, you…” She could hear him breathing quickly, struggling to say the right words. She waited, but refused to look at him. “You _already_ believe me,” he said. She turned sharply to him then. He nodded. “You know I’m telling the truth. If you didn’t have _some_ doubts about the people pulling the strings, we’d both be dead right now, and you’d be gone.”

Stone looked down, cursing inwardly. It was true, of course, and she knew it. She released her grip on the trembling scientist’s head, and the woman shuddered violently. Cross didn’t relax - Stone still had the gun pointed at Shearing’s head. “Who are you?” he asked. “Part of another elite group? Are you on chems?” Her eyes narrowed, and he nodded. “They’re using you as a lab rat,” he said. “And when the wrong people get hold of the truth, they’ll be covering up whatever group you’re in, and they’ll put all of _you_ down too.” He paused, looking at Shearing. Then he looked up at her again. “Let us go,” he said. “Please. We’ll move on, and-”

“And what? I can tell them I killed you? You know that won’t work,” she said.

“We can help you get away from them,” Cross said. “We… we know how to viral you off of the chems.”

“I’m already viraled off physical chems,” she said. “And you can’t guarantee you can viral me off cognitive, they already tried!”

Cross seemed to deflate - his shoulders dropped, and he looked at Shearing with remorseful eyes. The scientist, still trembling, turned her face to Stone’s. “What d-do you mean, they tried?”

“What I said, they tried to viral me off cognitive chems, but it didn’t fully work. I have to have them every two months, but I still _need_ them.”

The woman shook her head. “That’s… that isn’t how it works,” she said. 

Stone narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“If… when they infect you with live virus, it either works, or you die,” she said. “There isn’t any in between.” Stone glared. “It’s the truth,” the woman said urgently.

“They want you back,” Cross said suddenly. “That’s why they lied - to keep you coming back. Either they want to keep you, or they want to kill you once you’re done with us.” 

Stone felt her breathing creeping up in speed as she looked from one to the other of them. What they said made sense. This woman was supposed to be an expert in neurological science. And clearly, if they would send an agent to kill another, it would be nothing for them to kill her. What was to keep LARX from falling to the same fate as Outcome?

“What’s your name?” Cross asked quietly. She glared at him and didn’t answer. “You know us,” he said, continuing to speak calmly, though she could see sweat trailing down his face. “They called me Aaron Cross when I joined the program. My real name, the name I was born with, is Kenneth Kitsom. And that’s Marta. What’s your name?”

She hesitated, feeling fear for the first time in many _many_ months. Trust these people? People she’d been ready to kill for weeks? But her handlers had lied, and it was their job to get the right outcome for themselves, whether agents lived or died. Maybe she didn’t want to die just yet. Maybe she didn’t want to live like a literal puppet anymore - a puppet who they didn’t trust to just say “we want him dead, don’t worry about why”. Why did they need to lie about what he’d done, when she was trained to obey and not ask questions? It was an extra deception, designed to make sure she went through with her mission, out of a sense of loyalty that they had actually tried to wash away from her (along with any other emotions).

The gun wavered in her hand, and she gripped it more firmly. There was a whimper from Marta, but a moment later, Stone lowered the weapon. She turned to Cross. “It’s Jane,” she said, after another moment of hesitation. “My name is Jane Porter. They called me Regina Stone when I joined the program.”

Cross nodded. “Good to meet you, Jane.” He turned his eyes to Marta. “What happens now?”

Jane moved slowly, unable to believe that she was actively disobeying orders. She untied Marta, then stood back against the wall. She wouldn’t go near Cross, not even with two pistols in her possession. Not yet. “Go ahead, Doctor,” she said. “Untie him.”

The woman smiled at her, and hurried to kneel behind Cross. “Thank you,” she said. She worked at the knots, freeing his arms, then they both untied his legs. 

Jane tensed. Marta stood up, but Cross raised his hand and motioned for her to sit down. She sat down on the bed, and Cross remained seated. “Thank you, Jane,” he said. She nodded. “Do you have a locator chip?” he asked.

She frowned. _Shit!_ “Yes.”

“You might want to get rid of it,” he said.

She shook her head. “I can’t. It’s mid-back, I can’t take it out in the field.”

Cross swallowed. “I can take it out for you,” he said.

Jane laughed. “You want me to let you take a _knife_ to me? I was going to _kill_ you, you think-”

“But you didn’t,” he said. “And I won’t kill you. You have my word on it.”

Jane could feel herself balking. She shook her head slightly. But what else could she do? Go in, after having released her targets? Go back to being controlled after she’d seen the lies herself? “Shit,” she whispered.

“Please,” Cross said. “I know it’s hard. It’s counter to everything we’ve been taught. But please trust me. What they did to us was _wrong_. I want to help you.”

There was another long moment, where Jane weighed her options. Lying down under someone else’s knife was insane! A former target, no less. And they could be lying to her, just as much as her handler and his cohorts were. But… what would be the point? He already had his life. He could get away, there was no reason for him to kill her now.

Feeling her insides twisting, Jane disengaged the clip from her gun and set the gun on the crate behind her - the clip she tossed to the far end of the cabin. She did the same for Cross’ gun, and stood feeling as naked as she had ever felt before. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s do it.”

Cross smiled and stood up. “Marta, get a fire going, fast okay?” She nodded, and quickly left the hut, leaving the two former agents alone. “You’re doing the right thing,” Cross said. She pursed her lips, and gave him a slight nod.

“So," she said after a few tense moments of silence. "What name do you prefer? Kenneth?”

He shook his head. “That man’s dead,” he answered. “She calls me Aaron, so that’s what I like.” She nodded. “What about you?”

“Jane,” she said. “It… it was my mother’s name.”

He smiled. They stood together in silence while Marta bustled with the fire, each busy with their own thoughts. Jane was pondering why it was that she had once preferred Regina to her own name.

Finally, Marta came back in. “What do you want to use?” she asked.

“My hunting knife,” Aaron answered. She moved again, taking the knife from another corner of the house, and going outside to sterilize it in the fire. “Let’s see where it is,” he said.

Jane pulled off her dark turtleneck, unhooked her bra and tossed them both onto a chair. She felt no shame or nervousness. Being without a weapon in front of a potential enemy was worse, and she’d already done that. She turned, and reached her hand back. “It’s around here,” she said.

She heard his footsteps approaching. “I’m going to touch you now,” he said slowly. She nodded, and a moment later, she felt his hand on her back, probing the area she’d pointed out. “Yeah, I feel it here. I can get this.”

“I- oh! Um…”

“Bring it here, Marta,” Aaron said. There was movement behind her, and Jane braced herself. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll be quick.” She nodded. He pressed her skin, then the blade cut through. Jane gripped the crate, and heard Marta’s little sympathetic cry. 

True to his word, Aaron was quick. He dug the beacon out with the knife, then pressed the wound closed, and pressed something against it. “Marta, will you hold this here? I’ll take care of the beacon.”

They switched places, and Jane felt the woman’s strong hand pressing against the cloth. After a few minutes, Marta announced that she would bandage it for her. In a few short minutes, Jane was bandaged, and back in her clothes. “Thank you,” Jane said. Marta nodded and invited her to sit.

Jane shook her head. “No, thank you.” She stepped outside the hut, looking for Aaron. He seemed to have disappeared. Jane sat down in front of the fire and stared at the flames. What the _hell_ was she doing? What the _hell_???

She heard his footsteps approaching. She forced herself to stay in front of the fire, rather than switch to a defensive position. He hadn’t killed her yet. Maybe she could trust him.

“It’s gone,” he said, sitting in front of her. “Fish food.” 

She looked up at him, and for the first time in weeks, she smiled. “Thank you.”

* * *

“What’s wrong with her?”

“I don’t know!”

“What do you _mean_ you don’t now? You’re an expert!”

“I was an expert with _Outcome_ , I have no idea what her program was like!”

Jane only listened peripherally to the argument between the couple. She was crouched on the floor of the hut, her knees up to her chin, her arms wrapped around her legs, rocking back and forth and crying uncontrollably.

“Could you have been wrong?” Aaron asked. “About the viraling off?”

“No! I… I don’t know. But this doesn’t make sense.”

Jane continued to cry, wracked with sobs that sook her entire body. It seemed that every feeling of grief, sorrow or guilt that should have run through her over the last several years had decided to wait until now and crowd on her all at once. She was practically hysterical. And on top of the grief and guilt, there was fear. Fear about what was happening to her, fear about Agent Cross and what he might do to her now, even though they had been living together for a full week and he had never once attacked her. Fear of all of the wild animals that might or might not populate the island.

Aaron knelt down in front of her and put his hands on her arms. He looked into her eyes. “Tell me what you’re feeling. Is it a sensory drop?” 

She shook her head. More like a sensory overload. “I… I can’t stop!”

He nodded and squeezed her arms. “It’s going to be okay,” he said, speaking with complete confidence even though she knew that he had no idea what was happening to her, any more than she did. “What chems were you taking? Blues and greens?”

She nodded. In a halting voice she said, “Blues, g-greens and yellows.” She rattled off the miligrams of each from memory.

Confused, Aaron shook his head and looked toward Marta. “Yellows?”

“I don’t know what those are,” Marta said. “The only ones we used at Outcome were blues and greens.”

“What did they call them?” Aaron asked Jane. “The yellows. For us, greens were for physical enhancements, and blues were cognitive. What was it like for you?”

“Greens were physical,” she answered. “And blues and yellows were the cognitive combination.” She shuddered, and her sobs grew louder as terror settled into her. Yellows were a wild card, no one knew what they were! She was going to _die_ and they couldn't do anything about it!

Aaron shook his head, and turned away. “We _have_ to help her," he said through clenched teeth.

“If it’s anything like the sensory come-down from our program,” Marta said, “there’s nothing we can do. She has to live through it.”

“ _Shit._ ” He looked back at Jane. “Listen to me. We _will_ get you through this." She could tell he hated to see her like this. They hadn't known each other long, but they had a common background - she knew he must empathize with her. He was imagining what it would be like if he was brought to this. The thought of a fellow former-agent feeling the agony of watching _her_ go through this made her cry all the harder. "Okay, Jane," Aaron said calmly, taking her face in both hands and forcing her to look at him. "It's going to be fine. Tell me what you feel.”

“Scared,” Jane said. “Sad. My mother died. She died four years ago, and I barely mourned her! My brothers think _I’m_ dead. We can never go home, _never_. I killed people! I _killed_ people I didn’t even know! And why? Because someone handed me a file with a picture and a name. I’m a monster!”

“No,” Aaron said, shaking his head. “No, you’re not a monster. You were doing your duty.”

“My duty was _wrong_!” she cried. The tears continued to flow.

Aaron looked helplessly at Marta. “Emotion suppressors,” she said. “That could have been what the yellows were. Do you remember, Jane? Did you notice when you stopped feeling sad about your mother?” 

Jane shook her head, crying harder at the reminder of her mother’s death. “Two, maybe three years ago. A few months after I joined LARX.”

“Shit,” Aaron hissed again. “That’s what they were doing. Taking away people’s consciences. Trying to make them into even more efficient killers.” 

Jane's sobbing grew in intensity, feelings of betrayal from her country twisting her inside. She had accepted the fact that she was a puppet before. In the past week she had been a little upset about the fact that she no longer trusted her government. But she hadn’t really processed what it meant to now be a fugitive for doing what was right. But now, the fact that the men who had taken away her very humanity were at home comfortable in their beds, while she and her former targets were stuck on a tiny island in the middle of nowhere, ate away at her as much as the guilt and the sorrow did.

“We’ll get you through this,” Aaron said. “We will _get_ you through this.”

Getting through it took longer than getting over the mega-flu had taken. That had been a three day process. This took over a week. Jane cried almost non-stop for hours and hours the first day. She was literally sick with grief, vomiting and actually getting dehydrated from crying so much, barely able to move as wave after wave of relentless emotion battered her. Aaron and Marta took turns sitting with her, holding her, talking her through the pain. Again and again, Aaron told her to let it out, and eventually it would all be gone.

He was right. After enduring a barrage of emotions that were concentrated from three years down to seven days, she was finally able to normalize. She became convinced (with the help of her friends) that she was not a monster, and she had done as best she could under the circumstances. The real monsters were the ones who had done this to her - stripped her of her humanity to turn her into a living, breathing weapon. She was no longer afraid of every shadow, and she began to feel a normal level of grief for the loss of her family, and the loss of the life she had known before. 

Aaron went back to treating her like a seasoned agent immediately (rather than coddling her like a little girl, as he had done every night for a week). She was grateful, because the instant return to his normal attitude, without worrying or constantly checking on her, took away the sting of humiliation that she might have felt after such an ordeal. As it was, she felt more like she'd just healed form a bullet wound, or any other type of physically injury - not as if she had proven herself to be a pathetic weakling in the eyes of her companions. She felt strong again, in mind and body. Strong enough to do whatever it took to survive, as she had been trained - _without_ being cold and dispassionate about everything around her. 

After the come-down, Jane stayed on the island for about a month before wanderlust took her again. She was ready to move. Aaron told her she was welcome to stay as long as she wanted, but she was ready to head out and make a space of her own - possibly try to live in a metropolis again. Aaron gave her some money to help her on her way, and when the next supply boat came to the island, Jane left with them. 

* * *

The girl who brought her supplies seemed to be acting strangely. She smiled more than usual, and she didn’t leave right away when she received her payment. “Something special, Miss,” she said. “Special in bottom.”

“What? What do you mean?”

The girl smiled, waved, and left the house. Jane stared at her supply box, heart pounding. Something special? What the _hell_? She inspected the box, half expecting to find a bomb. But what she found was a pair of sunglasses. Frowning, she picked them up. What the hell??

Almost afraid to do so, she put the glasses on. She gasped when an electrical display began on one lens, confirming her identity through retinal scan. “Agent confirmed,” a pleasant female voice said.

“Jesus!” she hissed.

“Good morning, Agent Stone.” The voice belonged to a man this time, a voice she didn’t recognize. She stayed frozen, watching the image of a middle-aged man speaking to her from a desk with an official seal on the wall behind him. “I am James Heathcliffe, Secretary of Defense for the United States of America. We have been looking for you for quite some time, and we’re pleased to have finally located you. We are aware that your initial experience with a special task force was unpleasant. But we would like you to understand that the individuals responsible for LARX, Outcome, Blackbriar and Treadsone have all been brought to justice.” At these words, images of trial records, verdicts highlighted, were shown on the screen, with lengthy jail sentences for several of the people she knew, including her own recruiter.

“All programs involving physical and mental manipulation via chemical enhancements have been ruled as unconstitutional, and have been outlawed,” the Secretary continued. "We have a special task force that has been in operation since prior to the initiation of Treadstone, specializing in covert operations of the most vital nature. It is called the Impossible Mission Force, so named because missions assigned to our agents are more difficult, and more sensitive than those relegated to our primary CIA operatives. Agents work in small teams to counteract terrorism, and further the good of our Nation. Your skills and knowledge would be an asset to our task force. Now that the criminals responsible for your situation have been arrested, we are able to invite you to join our team.

“Your first mission, should you choose to accept it, is to return to the United States, and meet with me to further discuss your options. I personally give you my word that, _whatever_ you decide, your name will be cleared of any false allegations made by former members of this department, and your citizenship will be reinstated.” The Secretary looked directly at the camera - directly into her eyes. “I’m sorry about what you’ve gone through. But your country needs you, Jane. Good luck. This message will self destruct in five seconds.”

A countdown began, and Jane hastily tore the glasses from her face. Steam rose from the lenses, and eventually, the lenses themselves began to melt. She dropped the glasses, and staggered to a chair. Her hands shook, and she could feel a sense of dread rising in her. They’d _found_ her! And this task force - this “impossible mission force” - what the hell could that possibly entail? Why would she want to join such a thing??

But even as she asked herself the question, she knew the answer. Sitting in a tiny, anonymous apartment in Malaysia, staying under the radar and living a relatively conventional life (considering) was eating away at her. She missed action, she missed the adventure, the satisfaction of a difficult job - a _truly_ difficult job - well done.

In three days, she was in an office at the Department of Defense, seated before the Secretary himself, welcomed with a firm handshake, and a friendly smile. Within two weeks, she had passed all her re-certifications, physical exams and other re-entry protocols. She had a greater understanding of what the Impossible Mission Force (or the IMF, as it was called) was about. And, most importantly, she knew that what the Secretary had said was true - the people who had manipulated her and other agents, toyed with their lives, kept them on puppet strings - they were all gone. 

Government wasn’t perfect, of course, but it was something she could work with. The Secretary was someone she trusted, someone she could feel _proud_ to work for. Her faith in her country was restored. And before long, she was the head of a small team of agents who trusted her with their lives, and whom she trusted with hers. 

They worked on missions that were extremely difficult, but clear-cut - they knew who their enemy was. There was no ambiguity, no “do this and don’t ask why”. In fact, they were given a _choice_ every single time, to take missions, or to abandon them as they saw fit. But Jane had never once declined a mission. She didn't need to, because she was never asked to do anything that left her feeling dirty. They broke the law, they did things that were unconventional, and they knew what the risks would be if they were caught. But they _knew_ that what they were doing was for the good of their nation and its allies. And when (sometimes after 48 straight hours of risking her life) Jane lay down to sleep at night, she did so with a clear conscience.

It was a damn good feeling. She often hoped that Aaron, the agent that had gotten her out of the pit, had managed to get the same chance.

* * *

Epilogue

Jane grabbed a rifle and gave it to Benji. “Get ready.”

“But it could be-”

“It could be _anybody_ ,” she hissed. He nodded, looking worried, and aimed the gun at the opening train car. Jane was completely stunned when she saw who climbed in. _Christ!_ Ethan followed the young man in, and Benji let out a shocked exclamation.

“Ethan, man, we thought you were _dead!_ ”

“We are,” the other man said. 

_Christ!_ The voice was the same. Unbelievable! She supposed that Aaron _had_ received the same chance she had all those years ago.

“Who’s this?” Benji asked nervously.

“Agents Dunn and Carter," Ethan said quickly. "William Brandt, Chief Analyst.”

Jane looked the young man up and down. “Analyst,” she said slowly. She’d never figured Aaron for a desk jockey. Strange. Maybe he’d kept Marta with him, and didn’t want to live such a risky life anymore.

“Brandt”, as he was now called, stood up while Ethan accessed the terminal. His eyes widened when he finally saw Jane. She handed her rifle to Benji to keep him distracted.

“Jane,” he said in a barely audible whisper.

Jane gave him a smile and nodded. He smiled back. In that moment, they were connected again - a secret partnership that the others would not understand. Jane and Brandt would have probably been in elementary school when Ethan joined the IMF. And Benji was green, practically brand new to the CIA and its affiliates. He would never have known about the labs, and the special, lone wolf programs the two of them had come through. The fires they had endured.

Brandt looked at her with real affection, as if he had missed her deeply, or as if whatever had left them drenched and shell-shocked had affected him deeply, and a familiar face was welcome. Jane had been instructed in her training that Outcome and LARX were _completely_ classified. She and Brandt had to be strangers to each other, for the sake of the other two agents, so there wasn’t much they could say to one another yet.

“Come on,” Jane said. “There’s dry clothes over here.”

“Thank you.” 

She showed him the cache, and she and Benji gave him some privacy, turning away while he dressed. When he was clean and dry, he sat on the floor beside the wall, alone with his thoughts, while the three of them waited for their leader to tell them how they were going to get out of this shit-storm.

_Fin_


End file.
